He watched her unlock her bike and ride away, then got in his little pick-up truck. A quiet evening of leftover stir-fry, a glass of wine, maybe watch Backdraft. He could use something to cry over, and firefighters were sexy as anything.
***
Once he was safely on his couch, wine and a bowl of stir-fry in front of him, he brought up the movie. Damn, the opening scene got him every time. Not the dad’s death—no, what got him was the brothers arguing. Mark bit his knuckles, holding in sobs as he watched the two boys. He and Eli had been best friends. They’d played together and fought together. Brothers through and through.
Then the dragons had come forward. Usually they kept to their own giant islands in the center of the Pacific, but they’d contacted humankind. He could still remember the demands made by the dragon elder, communicated in growly whispers over the emergency broadcast system. “Humans’ use of technology, microwaves going to and from satellites, is destroying our dragon magic. We can’t survive without magic. We have asked nicely but to no avail. Cease use of that technology immediately, or we will have no choice but to end you.”
They hadn’t even given humankind a chance to stop. Days later, the polar ice caps were melting—heated by dragon fire. Eli had come over to Mark’s apartment to watch the news footage. As water levels rose, tsunamis and floods occurred all over the world.
Eli, of course, had been a hero. “I have to help people,” he said. “The International Rescue System is begging for more volunteers. I have to go.”
Mark couldn’t stop him. Besides, as a nurse he was needed at the hospital. Panic and flooding had caused more emergencies than ever, and he kept busy, living each moment hoping that Eli would check in and reassure Mark that he was safe.
The floods weren’t stopping. The dragons continued to melt the ice. The future of humankind was uncertain; they were headed for peril.
Because the dragons wouldn’t stop melting the caps, the humans rained nuclear terror upon them. The dragons had been destroyed, but that hadn’t brought Eli back.
As Backdraft played in front of Mark’s eyes, in his mind he was far away, identifying Eli’s body. Cold, and so pale on the table in the morgue. Eli had been a hero, but he’d ended up dead, and it was all the dragons’ fault.
Cyrus
Cyrus slept, and as he slept, he dreamed. At first he was flying in his dragon form, soaring over the Rocky Mountains. Then another dragon flew by his side. Cyrus was startled, because he hadn’t spoken to another dragon in years. After the Dragon Floods, he’d severed all ties with his brethren. But here was a beautiful red dragon flying next to him. What a pair they made—the red scales of his companion went beautifully with the blue-black scales on Cyrus’s hide. They flipped and wheeled in the sky, dancing playfully. Eventually they touched down to the ground in the middle of a clearing edged by aspen trees.
Cyrus shrank down to his human form, as did the red dragon. Although Cyrus squinted, he couldn’t see the face of his companion. “Who are you?” he asked.
“The future,” the man said.
Cyrus knelt at the man’s feet and gingerly touched each one. The man sucked in a breath, and Cyrus raised his hands higher and higher on the man’s legs until they reached his groin. One last time Cyrus looked up, trying to see his partner’s face, but it was rendered only in shadow.
The man’s cock was perfect—thick and hard and waiting. Cyrus opened his mouth and took him inside, loving him with his tongue, showing him how lonely he’d been and how grateful he now was to have a partner his equal, a partner who could love him and love all of him.
But then the alarm jangled in the firehouse, and Cyrus woke with a start. His own cock was hard and heavy against his stomach, but he shoved on his clothes and went down to the truck.
“Let me help, Chief. I’m sorry about the other day at the barn.”
“You listen to me no matter what,” Chief said. “No more acting the hero.”
Cyrus nodded, and Zane gave him a sympathetic grin. They hopped on the truck and careened toward downtown Prospect.
“What’s the call, Chief?” Zane shouted over the screaming of the siren.
“Apartment building. Point of ignition on the upper floor.”
That meant ladders, stairs. The chief would have to give the okay before sending any of his men in. But with human lives at stake, they were all willing to risk more.
The truck screeched to a stop outside a four-story building. Smoke came out of an upper window, curling into the night sky, obliterating the stars.
Someone, likely the apartment manager, rushed over with rolled up plans to the building. “I thought these might help.”
Chief muttered a thanks. “How many apartments are on each floor?”
“Three,” the manager said. He was sweating profusely, and wiped his forehead with his arm. “One studio and two two-bedrooms.”
“Cyrus, Zane, you’re up,” Chief said. He held the plans to the apartment in front of him. “You get the top floor. And don’t forget your goddamn masks.”
The ladders had already been hoisted into place by other firefighters, and Cyrus climbed up first. He could hear Zane behind him. Pushing his way through the window, he found himself in a small studio apartment. “Fire department’s here! Anyone around? Hello?”
There was no response. Methodically, he checked the bathroom and peered around the kitchen counter. Empty. He left the apartment and carefully stepped out into the hall. Zane went one way, and Cyrus went the other. He could hear chatter through his headset, that his other crew members were making sure the other floors were evacuated.
Cyrus knocked on the next door. No answer, not that he could hear. The world around him was becoming smokier. He could handle the heat, but he hated not being able to see. He kicked open the door and stepped inside.
A man lay on the floor, groaning and holding his head.
Cyrus bent down. “I’m here to help,” he said. “Can you stand?”
The man sat up, wincing. Cyrus thought he looked like a dirty angel, his face smudged with blood below a halo of golden blond hair. Maybe the man’s wings had been singed during a fall from heaven.
This was no time for crazy imaginings, Cyrus reminded himself. He supported the man into a standing position and helped him out of the apartment. As they walked, the man was able to take more and more of his own weight. Cyrus shifted, not wanting to let the man get too far away. They walked to the studio where Cyrus had come in. The ladder was in place.
“Are you too dizzy?” Cyrus asked. “Can you make it down?”
“I—I think so,” the man said.
He had a handsome, deep voice.
“We’ll go down together,” Cyrus said.
The man eyed the ladder. “I’m afraid of heights.”
“You should be more afraid of fire.” Cyrus helped the man over to the window and climbed out. Bracing his knees on the insides of the slide rails, he held his arms out for the man. “I’ll stay right with you.”
The man froze. “I can’t.”
“Yes you can. You can! What’s your name?”
“Mark Rollens.”
“Great, Mark, now listen to me. You can do this, and you will. Come on.”
Mark was still frozen, but a coughing fit shook him.
“Please, Mark, don’t die on me in there. We’ve gotten this far,” Cyrus said.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Mark brought one foot out the window, then the other. “I’m so scared,” he said.
“I’ve got you,” Cyrus said. “One step at a time. Face the wall, don’t look down. I’m right here with you.”
As they inched down the ladder, Mark’s ass was pretty much in Cyrus’s face. Cyrus had to keep him close in case Mark got dizzy—this way, with Cyrus’s hands holding on tight to the slide rails, he could keep Mark safe.
He didn’t know why, but he felt like nothing was more important than keeping Mark safe.
Finally, though, they made it down. Cyrus led M
ark over to the ambulance, where they gave him oxygen and checked his vitals.
“How you feeling, champ?” Cyrus asked.
“Like a big fool,” Mark said. “You know why I was on the floor? I tripped on nothing on my way out of the apartment. I’d been having some stupid dream that I was flying, and then the alarm went off and I lost my balance. Hit my head on the counter and down I went. If it hadn’t been for you, Mr., um…”
“I’m Cyrus Luz. Just call me Cyrus.”
“Cyrus,” Mark said with a smile. “If it weren’t for you, I might have died tonight.”
The hoses were going full blast, the flames sizzling inside the building. The paramedic turned her attention to another victim of the fire, and to Cyrus it felt as if he and Mark were in their own little world.
“I know this is kind of a weird time,” Cyrus said, “but I don’t think I’m misreading any signals. Do you—would you be interested in going out? With me?”
Mark’s smile fell. “Normally I would, but…”
“But what?”
“But I’m not doing relationships right now.”
Cyrus went to ask him why, but Chief was gesturing everyone over. Mark turned away from him, and even in the lamp-washed darkness, Cyrus could see that Mark was blushing.
Quickly, Cyrus jotted his phone number down on the first piece of paper he saw—a bandage wrapping left on the floor of the ambulance. Then he slyly tucked it into Mark’s sweatshirt pocket.
Maybe it would come to nothing, but he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t try.
Mark
Mark narrowed his eyes at Jenny as she stood before him, tapping her foot. “It is not high time I put myself out there.”
“It very well is,” she said. “You’ve been a sad mopey bastard and you need some happiness in your life.”
Obviously two days of crashing at her townhouse was starting to wear on their friendship. “You just want your house back again,” Mark said. “I told you I can afford a hotel, no problem. Insurance will pay for it and everything.”
The fire had been caused by a mechanical malfunction in one of the heating systems. Luckily, Mark had renter’s insurance.
“No, no, and no,” Jenny said. “Here, you’re at my mercy. Didn’t that fire teach you anything?”
Only how to have two days of nightmares about smoke and flame. And in each nightmare, a monster looked at him from beyond the smoky shadows. The weirdest part was that the monster didn’t scare him at all; in the nightmares, he was drawn to the monster.
He shook away the weird thoughts and looked back up at Jenny. “You’ve been super sweet to let me stay here, but—”
“But you’re tired of me pressuring you to go out,” she finished.
“Well, yeah.”
Jenny’s deep brown eyes regarded Mark with a mixture of understanding and determination. “Okay, fine. Let’s make a deal.”
Mark groaned. “This never works out well for me.”
“You’ll like this one, I promise. You go out tonight with me and James and a couple of our friends. You’ll see that being social is actually a good thing. If you don’t have a good time, I’ll leave you alone about ‘getting out there.’”
“Forever?” Mark asked hopefully.
“For…six months.”
“Jenny, it doesn’t matter anyway. Nobody’s interested in me.”
“Ha!” she said, bouncing up and down. “I totally knew you were going to use that argument. Oh, I know you so well, honey. Nobody’s interested?”
“No?” Mark made it into a question.
“Then what about this?” She thrust a paper in front of his face.
“It looks like a bandage wrapper.”
“And?”
“There are numbers on it.”
“Numbers.” She made an unattractive snorting sound. “Not just numbers—this is a series of ten numbers in two groups of three, and a group of four. This, my dear, is a phone number, and it was in your pocket.”
Mark held up a hand. “Okay, one, I have no idea whose phone number that is, and two, what were you doing looking through my pockets?”
“I did your laundry, dumbass. After the fire? Your clothes smelled like smoke, so I washed them while James was picking up new things for you.”
“That number came out of my jeans?”
“Sweatshirt.”
“But nobody—oh my god.” Mark groaned. “The fireman.”
How could he have forgotten Cyrus the fireman? The answer was, he hadn’t forgotten Cyrus. He felt like an idiot for turning down the date, but what Mark had said was true—he wasn’t doing relationships right now. Or possibly ever. He was a shitty match for someone as beautiful and heroic as Cyrus. Compared to Cyrus, Mark was shaky and scared and depressed and really, he was just better off alone and it was better for everyone else.
“The fireman?” Jenny’s voice went up three octaves. “What fireman? A fireman gave you his phone number? I don’t know which is worse—that you didn’t call him, or that you didn’t tell me.”
She looked like she was about to throw something at him. Mark held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t know he gave me his phone number. He must have slipped it in my pocket or something.”
“Was he hot?” Jenny asked. “Of course he was hot. He’s a freaking firefighter. See, this is what I’m talking about, Mark. You’re a catch.”
He shook his head.
Jenny ignored him and walked to the clothes hamper on the other loveseat. She rooted around in it until she pulled out a lightweight sweater. “Here, wear this with your black jeans. You’re coming with us to Hub’s even if I have to drag you there. If nothing else, as a repayment for my kindness of taking you in during your time of need.”
Mark raised his eyebrows. “And if I go, you won’t hassle me about going out for six months?”
“When you go,” she said. “There’s no if about this.”
***
Forty minutes later, Mark sat at the bar at Hub’s. Jenny leaned over and poked his arm. “Don’t pretend like you’re not having fun. This place is awesome.”
Mark glanced around the dim bar. It was crowded, and he could see why the place was popular. Low lighting barely illuminated no-nonsense tables and chairs, as well as some quieter booths tucked along the edge of the large room. Two pool tables stretched out in the center. There were a number of attractive guys around. One, a lumberjack-looking sort of guy wearing a flannel shirt, caught Mark’s eye. He raised his eyebrow at Mark in invitation.
Mark felt his heartrate pick up. Did he really want to do this? Have a conversation with an attractive stranger at the bar? He turned back around to take a sip of his beer. No—he didn’t want to do this.
Jenny didn’t know it, but he had Cyrus’s phone number in his pocket. What Jenny also didn’t know was that Mark was considering calling him. He could feel himself blushing just at the thought. What would he say?
Around him, people played pool and talked and drank, immersed in their own little dramas. Mark, however, was in his own head, wondering how the conversation would go.
Lumberjack, across the room, was already chatting up some other guy. Jenny and James were deep in a conversation about DNA testing.
The air in the bar changed all of a sudden. Nobody seemed to notice except Mark, but the room felt fuller, somehow, yet in a good way. Mark couldn’t figure it out. What had changed? He looked around. There, coming through the open door, was a couple of guys. They wore black t-shirts with the fire station logo across the front, and their muscles were prominent beneath the fabric.
Mark’s breath caught in his throat. One of the firemen was Cyrus.
Cyrus
Punching Zane in the arm, Cyrus made his way to the bar. The place was crowded, but it was Friday and Cyrus really shouldn’t be surprised. Still, he liked quieter get-togethers. Zane really wanted to play pool, though, and had guilted Cyrus into coming with him.
Cyrus wondered which room o
f his house would fit a pool table, so he wouldn’t have to make trips to the bar anymore. He’d just make Zane come to his place. He wondered if Zane would read the invitation wrong. Zane seemed pretty tolerant, but Cyrus still hadn’t come out to him. Their friendship felt pretty solid, but Cyrus had experienced rejection before from people who didn’t want to be associated with a gay guy. It wasn’t fair, but at least then he knew where they really stood. With Zane, though, it would be tough because they also worked together. How would things change on the job if it turned out Zane was a closet homophobic? Would he still watch Cyrus’s back when they were putting out fires?
These thoughts were way too heavy for a night meant to unwind. Cyrus had a couple of days off, and dammit, he planned to relax.
But then a familiar scent hit his nose. Smoke and apples. It was the scent of Mark Rollens, the attractive human Cyrus had rescued at the apartment fire. Try as he might, Cyrus hadn’t been able to forget about Mark. He’d checked his phone often during his downtime at the station. Every time, he’d been disappointed. Maybe Mark hadn’t found Cyrus’s number, or worse, Mark had found it but he wasn’t going to call.
Mark was here, though, at Hub’s. Instantly alert, Cyrus raised his gaze to the people around the large room. It didn’t take him long to find Mark sitting at the bar, talking with an attractive brunette and a handsome man who looked to be her date. Had Mark seen Cyrus yet, though?
It didn’t matter, Cyrus decided. Mark had blown him off the night of the fire, and he hadn’t called, and maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.
Zane set down some quarters on the edge of the pool table—the practice in Hub’s to signal someone was waiting for a table—and Cyrus got them each a pint. He returned to the table where Zane waited.
“You seem wound up,” Zane said.
“Nah.” Cyrus took a long swig of his beer.
“You know, forgetting your mask, at that barn fire—that’s not like you. I’m worried, man. Celia said we should have you over for dinner, maybe try to hook you up with her friend Martha.”
Cyrus inwardly winced. Here it was. He didn’t want to lie to Zane, and he didn’t want to get by on lies of omission anymore, either. It’s what had driven him and Jonas apart as a couple. Friendship should be as solid as possible. If he couldn’t tell Zane that he was a dragon shifter, he should at least be able to tell Zane he was gay.
Arrested by the Dragon: Gay Police Paranormal Romance Page 8